


into your heart i'll beat again

by orphan_account



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 2x08 predictions, Angst with a happy-ish ending, F/M, betty and toni becoming tentative allies is everything to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “It’s not just her. It’s Betty and it’s Archie and it’s Veronica and it’s this entire goddamned town. Even if I can fix it this time, what about next time? Or the time after that? The cycle will just keep repeating, I might as well break it now and save us both a lot of time,” Jughead says, voice choppy and savage.F.P chuckles lowly, flicking ash onto the pavement. “You want every misery at once, kid,” he says, “You’re like your old man that way.”OR2x08 predictions. sometimes things fall apart so better things can fall back together.





	into your heart i'll beat again

**Author's Note:**

> idk why im so set on the sisyphean effort of writing things that are going to become out of canon in just about a day, but here we are! 
> 
> recommended listening: hurt by johnny cash, crash into me by dave matthews band, razorback by rachel mallin

_ I wear this crown of thorns/ _

_ Upon my liar's chair/ _

_ Full of broken thoughts/ _

_ I cannot repair _

\- hurt, johnny cash

* * *

 

_ after  _

And this is how it ends. 

Jughead watches as it all unfolds, a showy kind of violence, slowed down to freeze frame by gut-wrenching freeze frame. He wonders to himself, not for the first time, how many times he can watch his life crumble before his eyes. The room has gone quiet, but Johnny Cash is still humming from the decrepit radio ( _ and you could have it all/my empire of dirt _ ) and Jughead would laugh at the symbolism, if he wasn’t too busy choking on his own fear. He stands, a voiceless observer, as he sees Toni’s casual remark towards Betty turn into concern, and then explanation, and then-

When the truth comes tumbling out, Jughead expects something big to happen. He expects a record scratch stop to time, or maybe for somebody to gasp, for dramatic music to swell as everything comes crashing down around him. Surely there must be some sort of environmental indicator, something to signify Jughead’s perpetually dwindling time finally running out. 

Instead, everyone in the bar shifts uncomfortably, exchanging covert glances, while Betty just stares, her heart breaking in her eyes. Her expression hits him like a blow to the chest, a tangle of hurt and anger and betrayal, so visceral it knocks the wind out of him. Veronica looks pissed and Toni looks contrite and his father looks so, so disappointed, but Jughead can only watch the way that Betty’s jaw locks, eyes glassy as realization sinks into her spine. 

There are a thousand explanations bubbling to his mind ( _ I thought you never wanted to see me again/ we were broken up/ I had a concussion and she was there, it meant nothing-) _ but for the first time in his life, words fail Jughead, stick and clatter around his brain. He forces his gaze to the floor instead, swallowing the lump in his throat and wishing desperately to be anywhere else. 

Jughead can’t quite catch his breath. He can barely think straight, flight or flight response skittering through his body over and over again. It’s a fear that reminds him of being a kid, Jason Blossom telling him that he’s going to kick his ass after school and walking out of sixth period full aware of what was coming.  _ How is it,  _ he thinks to himself,  _ that every time I think I’ve hit rock bottom, it turns out I’m standing on a trap door. _

“Betty, I-” he starts, finally, but she’s already gone, Veronica whisking her out of the Whyte Wyrm with a glare meant to draw blood. Toni quickly follows, Sweet Pea and Fangs trailing closely behind her, expressions unreadable. The door slams on its crickety hinges and at last Jughead’s alone, surrounded by middle aged men, still shooting pool and ignoring the steady demolition of a life happening around them. 

_ What have I become, my sweetest friend?  _ croons the radio as F.P finally beckons Jughead out the back door with a quiet “C’mon, son.”

He wishes that his life was something like  _ Groundhog’s Day _ , that he could freeze and rewind, do it differently, do it  _ better _ this time.

* * *

 

_ before _

_ Everything is fine  _ loops its way through Betty’s brain, a slightly desperate mantra, more prayer than reassurance. She tells it to herself, over and over again, fervently ignoring the itch of worry that crawls up her spine every time Jughead looks at her like she’s a ghost instead of his girlfriend. Betty’s always been a little too aware, too conscious of the subtext lingering in the world around her. She couldn’t afford not to, growing up in the Cooper household. 

The problem, as Betty sees it, is that everything  _ should  _ be fine. The truth is finally out, and her life has returned to its new sort of normal. It’s a sort of liminal space, an existence in between what she used to know and being targeted by a serial killer. Her and Jughead do all their usual things- drink milkshakes at Pop’s, read on opposite ends of the trailer couch with their legs tangled, make out fervently on the kitchen counter- but there’s something not quite right. Something  _ off _ , and Betty has enough deductive reasoning skills to know that it’s more than just the rapid spiral Riverdale seems to be falling into. 

“You’re being paranoid,” Veronica tells her resolutely, examining her immaculate nails, “That boy loves you like he’s never loved anyone else, and never will.” 

They’re stretched out on Betty’s bed, a homework date turned intense gossip session. The room is filled with the smell of popcorn, and they pass the bowl back and forth, hair tangling together on Betty’s pastel pink pillows. It’s an old, worn-in routine, one they’ve repeated hundreds times before. 

Betty’s mouth twists, displeased. “There’s something wrong, V. I can tell. It’s not Black Hood stuff, for once. It’s something else.”

Veronica finally looks up from her cuticles, sensing the genuine agitation in Betty’s tone. She squeezes Betty’s hand in her own, just a little too tight. 

“Just talk to him, B. Whatever it is, it’s probably not as bad as you think. It’s you and Jughead; you’re practically made for one another.”

Betty mulls over Veronica’s words, reframes her last conversation with Jughead for the tenth time that day. 

“Maybe I’m being paranoid,” she reasons aloud, “The Black Hood has everyone on edge.” 

“You’re not being paranoid, B. The whole town is in a state of  _ something wicked this way comes _ ,” she says, voice pitched high with sarcasm, “It makes sense that you’re on edge, especially when you just got back together. But I really doubt there’s anything serious going on. Jughead is an eight point five at  _ best _ , and you, Elizabeth Cooper, are a ten. He’s a smart boy, he knows when he’s got something good” 

Betty exhales a scandalized  _ Ronnie!  _ amused and a little offended on Jughead’s behalf. Veronica’s confidence momentarily assuages Betty’s sense of looming dread, and she is warmed by love for her best friend, her easy affection and advice, her willingness to do whatever it takes. 

“Now, c’mon,” Veronica says, jostling Betty when she bounces up from the bed, “There are two mani-pedis with our names on them, and I need a solid two hours to rant about Archie. He told me he loved me last night, can you  _ believe _ ”

Betty laughs softly, but there is still an uneasiness shifting in her bones, a sense of foreboding that she can’t quite seem to kick.  _ Everything is fine  _ she says to herself, resisting the urge to curl her palms into fists, and follows Veronica out the door.

* * *

 

_ after  _

The air is freezing, a bone numbing sort of cold, when Betty finally walks out of the Whyte Wyrm, Veronica clutching her arm in a death grip and murmuring reassurances in her ear. Tears slide down her face, hot and salty, and Betty feels stupid and lost, wearing Veronica’s too tight, itchy clothes because she wanted Jughead to notice her. 

Veronica is vehemently promising Jughead’s head on a platter, telling Betty that she can stay the night at the Pembroke, but Betty is stuck on the sound of “You know, the whole grope session.” She can picture, vivid as a movie, Toni and Jughead tangled up in his twin bed, Toni’s breezy confidence and pink hair far sexier than Betty could ever hope to be. 

They’re barely twenty paces outside the bar when a voice calls “Hey!” behind them.

Veronica ushers her onwards, but Betty stops and turns to see Toni approach, Sweet Pea and a boy whose name she doesn’t know flanking her. She swipes at her face roughly, brushing away tears, and tilts up her chin to look more confident than she feels. 

“Hey,” Toni repeats when she finally reaches Betty, her face doing something complicated and fists shoved in her pockets. 

Veronica already looks braced for a fight, and Betty has no doubt that she would deck Sweet Pea at the first given opportunity. Betty squeezes her shoulder, with a quiet  _ it’s fine, Ronnie  _ and the girl in question relaxes, marginally. 

“Hey, Toni,” she says quietly. 

“I didn’t know,” she says, “I thought that he told you already.” It’s not quite an apology, but there’s something soft lingering in her eyes, a sort of empathy. 

“I know,” Betty says, and catalogues the way that Sweet Pea’s eyes flicker in surprise, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“He was a mess, that night,” Toni continues, looking like the admission costs her something “It was obvious that he was still in love with you.” 

Betty exhales, hard, at that, nodding once. 

“Thank you, for telling me,” Betty says, “And- and for being there for him. When I couldn’t.”

It’s a tentative truce, a sort of grudging respect, and the silence is only broken when Sweet Pea interjects “You broke his fucking heart, you know. Sending boy toy over to the Southside to dump him for you.”

Veronica flinches, hackles raised, and looks ready to go to bat, but Betty speaks before she can. 

“I know,” she says again, “There were...extenuating circumstances.”

Sweet Pea scoffs, loudly, and looks like he’s about to retort, but Toni cuts him off with a sharp, “Shut up, Sweet Pea.”

“We should be going,” Veronica says, finally breaking her silence. Betty and Toni make eye contact, and they exchange a not-quite smile, just the barest curve of lips. 

The trio of Serpents make their way back into the bar, and Veronica steers Betty out of the parking lot. “What the  _ hell  _ was that?” she breathes, looking a little dumbstruck.

“I have no idea,” Betty replies honestly.

* * *

 

_ before _

Since Mr. Philipps’ arrest, Jughead’s basically been running the  _ Black and Red  _ all on his own. Southside’s academics aren’t exactly challenging, and he often finds himself lingering in the office during his free periods, agonizing about Oxford commas and layouts. It’s a familiar pattern- pushing deadlines and formatting articles and knocking back endless cups of weak coffee. The monotony is comfortable, something he doesn’t have to think about, and the push and pull of running a school newspaper is inevitably tied up with Betty, the place that they started to fall in love. It’s where he first started to see Betty as more than just a friend, when she had clapped her hands in excitement because he had finally agreed to write for the  _ Blue and Gold.  _

The memory creeps into his mind, unbidden, and Jughead immediately feels his guilt snag at him, a sickly, nauseous sort of feeling. He reasons with himself that he  _ has  _ to tell her, that Betty will understand, but- 

But Betty is one of the only good things he has left, the only thing in his life not currently bleeding out right in front of him. He doesn’t think he can stand it, losing her again, watching her walk away and leave him alone when it damn near killed him the last time. Jughead knows, logically, that he’s living on borrowed time, but really, he has been all his life. 

Toni walks into the cramped office, holding a teetering stack of files, and Jughead is broken out of his reverie. 

“Hey,” Jughead says tentatively, gauging her response. A new layer of guilt settles into his stomach. Things haven’t gone quite back to normal since that terrible night after the gauntlet, but they’re getting better. 

She hums a greeting, distracted with examining the prints for the newest editions of the  _ Red and Black _ . They work in silence, and Jughead loses himself in the work, letting his thoughts drift aimlessly. 

“I should go,” he says, just as the sun is beginning to cast elongated shadows across the room, “I’m meeting Betty for dinner.”

Toni arches an eyebrow at that, and Jughead senses the challenge in her gaze before she speaks. 

“So, you’re back together, then?” she asks, shuffling a stack of paper with a little more force than necessary. 

“Yeah,” he says, and thinks how to phrase the whole ‘Betty was being secretly blackmailed’ thing. “There was a- a miscommunication.”

Toni shoots him an unimpressed look, but doesn’t press the issue. 

“You tell her about the kiss?” she says instead, looking like like she already knows the answer. Jughead flinches, and she nods to herself, mouth turning downwards in disapproval. 

“You have to tell her,” she says. Toni’s tone is severe, but the sentence comes out kinder than it needs to be. A thick, uncomfortable silence drapes itself over the room. 

“I know,” Jughead says finally, all false promises.  _ I know, I know, I know. _

When Toni sighs, Jughead gets defensive. “I’m going to talk to her tonight,” he says, and marvels at the way the lie tastes in his mouth.

* * *

 

_ after _

F.P wrestles Jughead out the door of the bar, fist bunched in the collar of his Serpent’s jacket. His father looks just about to start in on his lecture, but Toni gets there first, blocking Jughead’s exit from the conversation. 

“I don’t have time for this,” he snaps at the mini-intervention, frustrated and anxious as he watches the bob of a blonde ponytail disappear into the distance, “I have to go find Betty.” His previous inaction, the ice that had crawled up his veins as he had watched Betty’s face drop, has been replaced with a restless, dangerous energy. He  _ has  _ to go explain, to try and fix things. 

Toni presses a hand flat to his chest, keeping him from going after her. Anger flares high and dangerous in his chest, but it dissolves to nothing when he gets a good look at Toni’s face, the warring emotions hidden behind her signature mask of apathy. 

“I wouldn’t go after her right now,” she says carefully, “She’s still pretty upset. Give her a couple of hours to be pissed before you go talk to her.”

Jughead deflates, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands until stars burst behind his closed eyelids. He sucks in a long, slow breath and exhales, ignoring the audience. 

There’s a pregnant pause. “You lied to me,” Toni says finally, voice flat, and it isn’t so much an accusation as it is a fact, “You told me that you had told her.”

“I know, Toni,” he says, miserably, and she takes him in, ragged and looking a little too close to tears. After a long moment, she shrugs one leather-clad shoulder. He knows her well enough to know that this is Toni’s way of showing forgiveness. 

“You’re an idiot, Jughead Jones,” she says, “You better fix it with her.” 

Toni walks back into the Whyte Wyrm just a second later, Sweet Pea and Fangs following like ghostly body guards. 

F.P finally turns to Jughead, his mouth doing something complicated and a little pitying. Jughead averts eye contact, unable to stand the look in F.P’s eyes, like he somehow  _ knows  _ Jughead, like he can understand how he feels. 

Jughead slides down the dingy brick wall to rest on his heels, dropping his face into his hands. 

F.P lights two cigarettes in his mouth and passes one to Jughead, who takes it without lifting his head. 

“What are you doing, kid?” he asks, leaning back against the wall. 

Jughead shrugs, and the movement would be funny, if it weren’t so close to tragic. 

“Why is it,” he asks, voice choppy and savage, “That every time I have something good, I somehow manage to fuck it up?”

“You don’t get to do that, Jug,” F.P replies easily, “You don’t get to throw yourself a pity party and just give up on your girl.”

Jughead lifts his head from the nest of his arms to take a drag, watching as the smoke curls through the night air. 

“It’s not just her. It’s Betty and it’s Archie and it’s Veronica and it’s this entire goddamned town. Even if I can fix it this time, what about next time? Or the time after that? The cycle will just keep repeating, I might as well break it now and save us both a lot of time.”

F.P chuckles lowly, flicking ash onto the pavement. “You want every misery at once, kid,” he says, “You’re like your old man that way.”

Jughead doesn’t reply, but the older man presses onwards. “Listen to me, Jug. This town is a wreck, no way around it. But that girl? She loves you. She’ll go down swinging for you, if you’ll only let her. I don’t know what this whole mess is with Toni, but I do know that you can fix it. She deserves that. And so do you, whether you believe it or not.” 

F.P watches, but Jughead doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge he’s spoken. He grinds the cigarette butt out under his foot and sighs, resigning himself to the fact that maybe he really has lost Jug, this time. 

One, two, three beats, and Jughead stands, crooking back his shoulders with a sliver of that trademark Jones determination. 

“I’m gonna go talk to Betty,” he says. F.P has to smother his grin. 

“Good luck,” he says instead, surprised to find how sincerely he means it.

Jughead ducks his chin in a goodbye and starts to walk off, only to stop after a few feet. 

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Jughead says, a faint shred of vulnerability showing just beyond the veneer of gruffness, a little embarrassment. 

“Anytime, kid,” F.P says, “Anytime.”

* * *

 

_ before  _

He picks her up at six, the first time they’ve been able to see one another all week. The air is crisp with the chill of early winter, and she ducks her face against his back when they take the bike over to Pop’s, the leather of his jacket blocking the wind from her face. 

They sit on one side of the booth, like usual, and despite the physical proximity, Betty can feel it, the thin hum of wrongness running like electric wire between them. She presses a kiss to shoulder, mentally willing him to tell her what’s wrong. 

“So, my dad called. He should be getting out in three days,” Jughead says instead. 

Betty sits up rapidly, almost upsetting her vanilla milkshake on the counter. 

“Juggie! Really? That’s so great!” she exclaims, her idling concerns momentarily forgotten. 

He smiles a genuine smile, one of the rare ones, free of sarcasm or self-deprecation. It sends a giddy little thrill through Betty, like the one that had shivered through her veins the first time Jughead had ever kissed her. She hugs him, her arms wrapped around his neck and half on his lap, and the embrace is strangely intimate, somehow. 

She presses her face into the side of his neck and inhales, suddenly a little overwhelmed, breathing in his boy scent of cheap shampoo and cigarette smoke and sweat. “I’m so happy for you, Juggie,” she murmurs, and she catalogues the way he shivers where her lip brushes his neck. Tears prick suddenly at Betty’s eyes for reasons she cannot quite fathom, and she forces herself to blink them away before she pulls back.

“Thanks, Betts,” he says softly, smoothing the hair back from across her forehead.

The spell breaks, and Betty giggles a little to herself, the faintest blush rising to her cheeks. 

“So, what are you doing for his return?” Betty asks brightly, taking a sip of half-melted milkshake. 

“Ah, the age old coming-home tradition of T.V dinners and Jeopardy reruns,” he snarks, defenses firmly back up. 

“We should have some sort of get together!” she says “Like a coming home party.”

Jughead’s forehead creases the slightest bit, and Betty is still trying to puzzle out whether it’s in confusion or discomfort when he says “A party? I don’t think that’s really F.P style.”

_ Bad idea, a poorly thought out distraction  _ hisses a voice in her mind that sounds disconcertingly like Alice Cooper, but she tamps it down viciously. 

“Not really a party,” she says, “A get-together.” Jughead still looks a little unconvinced, so she adds “We don’t have to if you really don’t want to, Jug. It’s just- he’s been alone for so long. He deserves something special.”

Jughead presses his mouth to the place where her hairline begins, a little amused.

“Alright, Martha Stewart,” he says, “Let me know whatever you need me to do.”

She immediately throws herself into party planning mode with an unsteady energy, teetering on mania, texting Veronica for ideas and strategizing ways to get Archie into the Whyte Wyrm without a hospital visit. 

_ This is gonna work,  _ she thinks to herself,  _ this has to work.  _

But Betty Cooper is an investigator at heart, and she can’t help but ask “There’s nothing else going on, right?” as they step out of the warm glow of Pop’s. 

“There’s nothing else wrong,” Jughead reassures, just half of a beat too late, and Betty tries not to dwell on the fact that he’s answering a different question than what she asked.

* * *

 

_ after  _

Veronica, for all her talk of revenge and hellfire, can be exceedingly gentle when the circumstances demand it. When they reach the street she immediately rushes her chauffeur to the address, snapping  _ I’m well aware the address is on the Southside, seeing as I am there right now  _ when he questions her. 

Perhaps he realizes that Veronica is not in a mood to be tested, because the sleek black car appears what seems to be only seconds later. Ronnie opens the door for Betty, and would probably buckle her seatbelt if Betty would let her. 

Betty is still busy replaying the entire interaction in her head, slowing it down and picking it to pieces, freezing on the look on Jughead’s face when she had finally put all the pieces together. 

There’s a twisted, analytical part of Betty that’s relieved at finally having the key piece of information, at being able to construct a narrative that, from a journalistic perspective, makes sense. But the larger part of her is reeling from the loss, gutted at the knowledge that Jughead had  _ lied  _ when she had asked, point blank. She stares at herself, blurry and distorted in the window’s reflection, and cannot help but dissect her appearance, tease out all the ways she is lacking in comparison to Toni. 

Betty’s fingers curl into fists, itching for some relief from the vicious cycle of her own anxiety. Her nails find purchase in the divots of old scars, but Veronica unfolds her fingers a second later, pressing her palm flat against the seat of the car with a gentle, but firm.

They spend the rest of the car ride in silence, hands interlocked in the seat between them.

“Why don’t you sleep over here tonight?” Veronica says, walking up the stairs to her room, “My parents are out, so we can just hang out, watch some movies.”

Betty nods silently, texting her mother the change in plans, fully aware she’ll get hell for it in the morning. She sinks down on Veronica’s bed, stuffed with down feathers and impossibly soft, and wraps her arms around her knees, tucking her chin down into her folded her hands. 

“B? You okay?” Veronica asks, digging out pajamas for them to wear. 

“I’m fine,” Betty says, and promptly bursts into tears. 

Veronica is there only a second later, clothes abandoned on the floor, and Betty leans into the embrace, sobbing so hard she can hardly breathe. Ronnie croons nonsense to her, lapsing into Spanish when she start to cry even harder. 

“I- He and her- he  _ promised _ , me V, he  _ promised _ that nothing happened,” Betty tries to explain, hiccuping around tears.

“I know, B,” she murmurs, “I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

Betty sobs until she has no tears left to cry. She looks at herself in Veronica’s mirror, eyes red and swollen and something crumpled in her appearance. She leaves the bedroom to go sit at the island in the Lodge’s kitchen, miserably picking at the plate of saltines and expensive Brie that Veronica had set down in front of her. 

“Here, this’ll help perk you up,” Ronnie says with an artificial cheer, handing Betty a mug. She takes a tentative sip, and then nearly spits out a mouthful of what turns out to be brandy with a splash of tea. 

“Thanks, V,” Betty says weakly, and Veronica eyes her critically. 

“Too strong?” she asks, and before Betty can respond Veronica has plucked the mug from her aching hands. She expertly tips half of the concoction into her own mug, which is almost completely drained, and then refills Betty’s with tea. She hands it back easily, and Betty sends her a grateful smile. 

She takes another sip, relieved to find the taste of rubbing alcohol slightly more muted. 

“Thank you, for all of this, V,” Betty says, “I don’t know if I could go home yet. After everything.”

“That’s what best friends are for,” Veronica says breezily, taking a sip of  her ‘tea’ without so much as a wince. 

“So. Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, looking inquisitively at Betty. 

“No,” Betty says, a little too sharply, and then, “Sorry, V. I just… don’t want to think about it. At least for tonight.”

Veronica nods in understanding and tops off Betty’s drink with the dark glass bottle of liquor. The effects of the alcohol sink through her body, turns the barbed edges of her thoughts blunt and hazy. The hurt is still there, nebulous and terrible, but its shape is a little less defined, a little less easy to recognize. 

They retreat to the living room, and Veronica turns on  _ Breakfast at Tiffany’s _ , her favorite comfort movie. Betty drifts into an uneasy sleep, lulled by Audrey Hepburn’s voice and the brandy, and Veronica tucks a quilt over her. 

The clock on the microwave is blinking 3:17 AM when there’s a knocking at the door, starting Veronica from the cusp of sleep. Confused, she pulls on her silk dressing down and goes to the door, wondering if her parents are back a day early from their business trip. 

She opens the door without bothering to check the peephole first, a decision she’ll later think about regretting. Because it’s not Hermione and Hiram Lodge on the other side, but one Jughead Jones, looking more haggard than Veronica’s ever seen him. 

She draws herself up to her full height, coiled like a snake. 

“You,” she says through bared teeth, “Better have one hell of an explanation.”

* * *

 

_ before  _

Music, some old Johnny Cash song, warbles from the speaker, and Betty thinks that the party might just be a success. Everyone is laughing and dancing, the fissures running across the North and South side seemingly mended for an evening. Veronica conned Betty into a mini skirt, some glittery makeup around her eyes, and she notices the way that Jughead’s eyes catch on the exposed length of her legs. His glance sends something, curling through her stomach, a familiar sort of heat, and Betty can hardly remember what she was so worried about in the first place. 

F.P walks in, five minutes before he was supposed to, and the applause is raucous. When he’s finally broken free of his crowd of well-wishers, he approaches Betty, lingering by the pool table. He sweeps her up into a hug, one that lifts her just a little off her feet. “Thank you, kid,” he says when she’s finally back on the ground, “I heard everything you did for me when I was in that place.”

“It was the right thing to do,” she says resolutely, embarrassed by the thanks. 

“Either way,” F.P replies, “I’m glad Jug has someone like you looking out for him.”

The conversation, and the party as a whole, fills Betty with a warm, hazy glow. She allows Veronica to convince her to dance, does tequila shots at the bar with Kevin with a precise hand. 

When a slow song comes on she wraps her arms around Jughead’s waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He’s on his own in the corner, but she can read his expression well enough to know that he’s happy. “Dance with me?” Betty asks, unexpectedly bold, and she grins with a silly, childish light when he agrees.

The song is slow, pretty, and Betty is happy enough that she doesn’t wince at the catcalls of a couple choice Serpents. “I love you,” Jughead says, low so no one can hear him, “Thank you, for doing all of this.”

They break apart when the song ends, something sadder coming on ( _ the needle tears a whole/the old familiar sting)  _ and Betty walks over to the bar, desperate for a glass of water, chatting with a tipsy and cheerful Veronica. The bartender has just noticed her when Toni approaches, gorgeous and intimidating in her crop top and Serpent jacket. 

“Toni, hi,” Betty says, smiling tentatively at the other girl, “You’ve met Veronica?”

Veronica holds her hand out to shake. “Veronica Lodge, it’s a pleasure,” she says, only a little snarky. 

“Likewise,” Toni says, reluctantly shaking her hand. 

She turns her attention back to Betty when Veronica turns to order another vodka soda. “Hey,” she says, “I just wanted to make sure we were cool, with the whole kiss thing. We both care about Jug-”

“I’m sorry, what kiss thing?” Betty cuts her off, confusion clouding her features and a cold, slimy trepidation sliding down her stomach. 

“You know, Jughead and I’s whole trailer grope session,” she says easily, and at Betty’s obvious shock something dark casts a shadow across her features. 

Veronica turns from where she’s been draped against the bar, her good mood instantly dissolved. “ _ What? _ ” she hisses, eyes promising something dangerous. 

Toni doesn’t respond, but slides her gaze from Veronica over to Betty, who looks as if she’s been slapped. 

Betty swallows once, twice, and notices Jughead standing only a few feet away, frozen solid with F.P’s hand clapped over his shoulder. One look at his face, contorted with panic, is enough to confirm Toni’s careless admission. Betty feels, suddenly, that someone’s peeled open her ribcage, like everyone in this dingy bar can see her offbeat heart and battered lungs, a mass of raw nerve. 

_ Focus on the fact _ she tells herself, willing away the emotion threatening to seize her by the throat. “When was this?” she asks, voice flat and affected. 

It’s clear that Jughead isn’t answering, so Betty lobs the question at Toni. 

“The night of the gauntlet,” she says.

“Okay,” Betty says, voice cloudy and faraway. 

“We’re leaving,” Veronica says sharply, taking one of Betty’s arms in her own and steering her bodily out the door. 

“Betty, I-” Jughead starts to say, but she’s already gone.

* * *

 

_ after _

Veronica is seriously considering the possibility of slapping Jughead, arms folded tightly across her chest and expression severe as a housewife’s. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, eyeing Jughead’s dark circles and creased clothing with more than little disdain. 

“Ronnie-” he starts, but she doesn’t let him get any further. 

“No,” she says sharply, “You don’t get to  _ Ronnie  _ me, not after I watched Betty get her heart broken for about the eighth time in as many weeks. What do you  _ want _ , Jughead?”

“Just to talk to her,” he says. 

Veronica considers, taking in his expression, before nodding sharply. “If she doesn’t want to-” Veronica warns. 

“I’ll be gone,” he says. 

Veronica shuts the door behind her before she walks briskly over to the living room. Betty is passed out on the couch, breath even and one hand tucked across her face, looking younger than she usually does. “B,” Veronica says softly, shaking the girl awake. 

“Ronnie?” she asks, sleepy and confused. After a minute her senses return and she sits up, rubbing at her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Jughead’s here,” Veronica says, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, “If you don’t want to see him, I’ll send him away, but-”

“No,” Betty says, “I have to talk to him. Where is he? In the hallway?”

“Yes,” Veronica says, “I’ll just be over in my room. Call if you need me, alright?” 

“Of course, Ronnie,” Betty replies, and Veronica goes to her bed, resisting the overwhelming urge to eavesdrop. 

Jughead’s head snaps up when Betty steps out into the hallway. Her feet are bare on the tile floor, and she’s dressed in a pair of Veronica’s old pajamas, soft and printed with clouds. Her hair is mussed around her head and her mind is still a little fuzzy with sleep and alcohol. 

“So, I think we’ve established surprise parties  _ really _ aren’t my thing,” she says dryly, earning a startled laugh from Jughead. Betty slides down until she’s sitting on the floor, and Jughead follows until they’re sitting across from one another. 

“And here I thought morbid humor was my thing,” he replies. 

“Apparently a lot of things are your thing,” she says, and the mood turns serious again. 

Jughead sobers and says “Betts, I am so, so sorry. If I could take it back I would in a heartbeat, I was barely thinking. Everything was fucked up; I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.”

“I understand why you did it,” she says, after a moment, “It hurts, Jug, that you kissed her not even a day after we broke up. But, we  _ were _ broken up, and I know that sending Archie was- was cruel.” 

“I know why you sent him now, Betts,” he replies, squeezing her foot. Betty pulls her legs back and tucks them underneath her. 

“What I don’t understand,” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken, “Is why you  _ lied  _ to me about it. I asked you, directly, if something had happened, and you lied to me, Jug.” Her voice becomes a little more agitated, and there’s a physical ache in Jughead’s chest when her voice catches on his name. 

“I-” he starts, and then stops again. “I am so fucking scared, Betts,” he whispers, “Every single day, I’m terrified. For you and for my dad and for Archie and Veronica. It’s like this town is crumbling a little more every single day. I just didn’t want you to be one of those things. For once, I just wanted us to be okay.” His voice breaks a little bit, and there is something like a sob lodged deep in his chest. 

“Oh, Jug,” Betty says.

“I love you,” he continues, “I love you, Betty. I’ve never even thought of Toni in that way, she was just  _ there.  _ I wanted to tell you, I almost did dozens of times. And then, every time I was about to, the words just got stuck in my throat. I was just- scared.” 

She doesn’t kiss him. But she does take his hand in her own. 

“I love you, Juggie. But you have to believe me when I tell you that I’m in this, all the way. Despite everything, you’re still the one I want to recommend new books to and drink milkshakes with and investigate murders alongside, okay? It’s always been you.” 

Jughed exhales, a shuddering thing. 

“We’ll be okay,” she says, “We’re  _ Betty and Jughead.  _ We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

They fall asleep like that, curled up on the hallway floor, until the morning sunlight finally starts to stream in.

* * *

 

_ If I've gone overboard/ _

_ Then I'm begging you/ _

_ To forgive me for my haste _

\- crash into me, dave matthews band 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so much for reading!! i would be eternally grateful if you took the time to leave a comment or kudos down below!!!
> 
> also, come hang out with me on tumblr @flwrpotts


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